


Troubled Mind

by exmachinarium



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He probably had no idea he did that, Childermass thought observing the fishes skitter and leap across the delicate china of the tea set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troubled Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Celebrating the first episode of TV adaptation with a small fic about two very tired people. Time-wise, it picks up where the episode left off (without stepping on the toes of episode two, hopefully).
> 
> My ladylove claims I went for the milder, adaptation-verse Norrell this time. She's wrong. I always had a (disgustingly) soft spot for Norrell, the TV series just made it real.

He probably had no idea he did that, Childermass thought observing the fishes skitter and leap across the delicate china of the tea set. Even though they were originally painted in a dull shade of orange, their scales gleamed presently in golds and reds, glowing from within with a light almost rivalling that of the candles. It was no great magic, but in an odd, almost whimsical way, really suitable for the man performing it.

Norrell had not spoken a word since their return from Sir Walter Pole's residence. Nearly three decades of acquaintance robbed Childermass of any delusions as to his employer's expressions of happiness, but all the same he hoped for a slightly livelier response to the grand success which undoubtedly secured Norrell's position as the greatest magician in all of England. What he got instead was a despondent and, quite frankly, thoroughly unhappy Norrell sitting across the table and unconsciously bringing the painted fish to life. The man of business sighed and for the umpteenth time checked his own teacup to find it already empty.

It was even worse than the ghastly, thrice-damned soirée Norrell was forced into (by Childermass himself, no less). In spite of what he suffered at the hands (or rather mouths) of the genteel Londoners and, unfortunately, Vinculus, Norrell recovered at speed and before they stepped across the threshold of the Hannover Square residence, he was already barking orders to get rid of the Threadneedle Street charlatan as quickly as possible. Nothing of that sort happened this time around, which was enough of a hint for Childermass that there was much more to the whole story than the reaction of the spectators implied.

His first instinct was to demand a full account of the events, but he thought better of it. London had worn them out in ways Childermass would never suspect back in York. Although he hadn't noticed at first, he was himself on edge for the greater part of the week and it took Norrell's utter devastation to make him notice the boundaries he had overstepped in the pursuit of his employer’s rightful recognition. Not even the peculiar character of their relations could excuse such lack of subtlety.

It was supposed to be the hour of Norrell's triumph. It felt like anything but.

After yet again checking for the long gone contents of his cup, Childermass stood up, intending to excuse himself for the night. He was, however, stopped by a grunt from Norrell and, interestingly enough, a sound much like a dull splash as the painted fish jumped back to their rightful places across the cups and plates.

"All the servants are asleep, so I need you to escort me to the bedroom."

Childermass raised his eyebrows at that surprising burst of loquaciousness.

"I hope you don't expect me to help you change into the night clothes as well?" he grunted, but motioned towards the door all the same. "Come along, then."

On their way Childermass wondered if Norrell realised that the candle shone much brighter than any candle had the right to. It probably did not occur to him. Or he simply chose to ignore it, too occupied with whatever thoughts troubled him at the moment.

Childermass left his employer at the bedroom door, shoving the candle into his plump hand without a word. Unlike Norrell, the man of business grew up with darkness as his companion. He'd known the way even with his eyes sewn shut.


End file.
